She tossed and turned the whole night—and when at last dawn broke across the Kent countryside, Amelia had reached a decision.
She would apologize.
Not because she believed herself entirely in the wrong, though she could not deny that she might have overreacted. Perhaps Lord Tobias had meant it kindly, despite how it made her feel. But she had responded with fury that ill-suited a lady. They would be living under the same roof for the foreseeable future, and maintaining such hostility would benefit no one.
She mentally rehearsed what she would say as she dressed in a mourning gown.
Lord Tobias, I must beg your forgiveness for my conduct yesterday evening. Whilst I maintain that wanting to get a… caretaker for my son made me feel rather inept, I ought not to have responded with such incivility.
Yes. That struck the proper balance.
She descended to the breakfast room with her carefully prepared apology ready, her heart beating rather faster than warranted.
The space stood empty save for a single footman.
“Good morning, James.”
“Good morning, my lady.” He bowed respectfully. “Shall I prepare you a plate?”
“Thank you, yes.” She moved toward the table, disappointment settling heavily beneath her ribs. “Has Lord Redmond already breakfasted?”
“His lordship took tea in his study quite early this morning, my lady. He is presently occupied with Mr. Pemberton regarding estate matters.”
“I see.” She managed a pleasant smile. “How very diligent of him.”
She forced herself to eat, though each bite tasted of frustration. She had steeled herself to face him, and he was not even present.
Over the following days, she caught glimpse of him only in passing. His form disappearing into the study as she descended the stairs. His voice carrying from the library as she walked past with Henry. Once, they encountered one another in the corridor, and both stopped—an awkward silence stretching before he bowed formally and she curtsied in return, continuing in opposite directions without exchanging a word.
It was unbearable.
On the third morning, Mrs. Boldwood appeared where Amelia sat, attempting to occupy herself with embroidery.
“Forgive the interruption, my lady, but I wondered whether you might review the household accounts? Several matters require a lady’s attention.”
Amelia set aside her needlework with barely concealed relief. “Of course, Mrs. Boldwood. I should be delighted to assist.”
“You are most kind, my lady. His late Lordship always maintained such precise oversight, and whilst Lord Tobias is most agreeable, he has indicated he has little knowledge of domestic arrangements… And the poor man has so much to do, what with the tenants and estate… I do not wish to speak out of turn, but I believe him to be rather out of his depth and…”
Something within Amelia’s chest loosened. Here, at least, was territory where she possessed authority.
“Bring me the ledgers,” she said, rising with renewed purpose. “I shall review everything thoroughly. Any household matters should be directed to me henceforth. As you said, Lord Redmond has quite enough to occupy him with estate business. I understand the household well.”
Within an hour, she found herself surrounded by ledgers and correspondence. The household accounts needed reviewing. Staff wages were due. Cook needed guidance regarding provisions.
She looked at her son, who was quietly playing with his wooden horse, and lifted her chin. Perhaps Tobias would not let her apologize… but she could show him that she was no longer fighting against him, could show him in some way that she would support him. And this was the way.
She turned her attention to the work before her, grateful for the distraction.
The days that followed established a new pattern. She rose early, breakfasted alone, and spent her mornings managing household affairs whilst Henry played contentedly at her feet. She consulted with Mrs. Boldwood regarding domestic matters, reviewed accounts with careful attention, and composed responses to correspondence.
She kept herself occupied from dawn until she retired each evening, exhausted but satisfied that she had proven herself useful. Capable. Independent.
And if she occasionally paused in her work when footsteps passed in the corridor, hoping they might belong to a certain gentleman who continued to avoid her—well, that was merely natural curiosity. Nothing more.
She told herself this repeatedly as she bent over her ledgers, as she directed the servants, as she managed every aspect of the household with determined efficiency.
She was perfectly fine occupying hersel in this manner. She required no assistance. No interference. No company save Henry’s innocent presence.
